The Many Chores of Evil
by Azzandra
Summary: There are three things a villain needs, an evil minion foremost.
1. Shopping

Eggs, orange juice, milk... no, there was still half a carton left. Bread, sulphuric acid, soap...

Doctor Horrible shook his head in exaperation. It was his turn to do the shopping that week, a menial, but necessary chore, yet one that he'd greatly prefer to his current predicament.

One would think that simply being accepted into the Evil League of Evil would make life simpler, but this too came with certain requirement: an evil lair, evil minions, evil deeds of increasingly unprecedented evil... His evil lair was currently under construction, so he still lived with Moist-- and suspected, as well, that as soon as he'd move, Moist would come live with _him_-- and he found that evil deeds came easier to him these days. Shocking people, horrifying them, victimising them-- a dam had been lifted since what he considered his first true act of evil (_and he won't think of it, but it sealed his fate, marked his transformation from a bumbling science-boy to Doctor Horrible)_ and this all came to him naturally now. No hesitation. No doubt. Like someone thrown in the deep end that finally learned to swim and wonders why he couldn't understand the simple motions before.

But no, the true difficulty came with his second task: finding a henchman.

He never quite realised before how the Henchmen's Union was quite so full of... _losers._

One after another, wanna-be villain rejects traipsied through his lab, stared up at him and his gigantic chair in awe and aggressively failed to impress him. At least twenty more of these dolts were gathered outside his lab door, shuffling nervously in the apartment he shared with Moist and eagerly waiting their turn. The current interviewee was a slight-bodied blonde who, apart from falling within society's standards of beauty, had no redeeming features what-so-ever.

"So, tell me the most evil thing you've ever done," Doctor Horrible said, grasping his chin in a meditative fashion. He was dignified and imposing and no matter what Moist said, the chair did _not_ make him look ridiculous. If anything, the clipboard he was holding with his other hand contributed to his professional appearence, even if it contained only his shopping list.

"Well," the blonde chewed on her lower lip nervosly, "I stole a briefcase full of money. From a bus stop."

"I see." He pursed his lips slightly. The blonde's eyes shifted nervously from side to side.

"Well, okay, um, it wasn't _full_ of money," she admitted. "But there was money in it! And, and I didn't return it to its owner!"

"Return it?" Doctor Horrible raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I didn't actually _steal_ steal it, it was just kinda... left there... and there was nobody around..." She trailed off pathetically.

Doctor Horrible sighed. "Are you even _in_ the Henchmen's Union?" he asked, not even trying to hide his exasperation.

"...No. Just a fan. Sorry." She was sheepish.

"It will take me approximately three point two seconds to reach and grab my Death Ray," Doctor Horrible intoned blandly. "I predict it will take you less to reach the door."

He was right. It took her less than two point nine seconds to exit not only the lab, but the apartment as well.

Too bad. After today, his standards had been lowered so much, he might have hired her, if she'd been in the Union. The Evil League of Evil did not look kindly upon non-union minions.

"Next!" he said in an appropriately booming voice, as his roommate ushured the next candidate in. A tall brunette (Women, why was it always women? He never had so many females surrounding him before he was in the League--_something in his gut wrenched, as he remembered why his interest in pursuing romance had disappeared so suddenly_) shuffled in and straightened her ridiculous tube top before sitting on the small stool in front of his chair.

"Before we start, I'd like to see your Henchmen's Union card," he said right up front.

"Uh..." The woman's eyes darted all over the case and it was clear to see she was just another "fan".

"Alright, that's it," Doctor Horrible threw his clipboard to the side and got up. "Out! Interviews are over! Everybody out!"

"Hey!" the woman shrieked in protest while outraged muttering floated from the rest of the candidates (but not anything louder than a mutter, this was Doctor Horrible, after all, _and you all know what he did to that girl--_).

"Thank you for coming! Moist, show them the door!" He motioned for the brunette woman to leave, but she remained where she was, uncertain if she should stand up for herself or do as the homocidal villain asked. She was obviously not a very heavy thinker.

As the crowd started inching towards the door, one person shuffled against the motion and broke away, dashing into the lab and stopping right between Doctor Horrible and the clueless woman. Another woman (_Great, another fan, where's my Sting Ray?_), this one shorter and slimmer and a great deal flatter in certain areas, but with slightly darker hair than the brunette. Darker-brunette pointed an accusatory finger at Doctor Horrible.

"You can't do that!" she shouted in a thick Slavic (Italian? German? What was that, anyway?) accent. "I have been waiting since seven in the morning to be interviewed, do you have any idea how early I had to wake up to get here? Your stupid big city has public transport that _sucks_!" As she ranted, her accent got thicker and, well, Doctor Horrible really wasn't in a position to judge, but... sillier. It was kind of funny to listen to her, actually. Like she was speaking with a mouth full of molasses. "It should be wiped off the MAP!" she yelled finally, then crossed her arms and stared up at him (because yes, she was shorter than even him), silently fuming.

"You have some interesting ideas," he replied finally, unsure why he was trying to placate her. He was evil, what did he care about a small, silly-voiced woman? "But unless you're with the Henchmen's Union, I--"

He stopped as she furiously jammed her hand in her hoodie's pocket and took out a card, which she shoved in his face. True enough, it testified that the woman-- whose ID picture was terrible, he noted-- was a member of the Henchmen's Union.

"Well, that changes things," he admitted, taking the card and inspecting it closer. It seemed legit.

"Hey, wait!" the other brunette protested shrilly. "What about me?"

"Oh. Right." Doctor Horrible turned to darker-brunette and pointed to lighter-brunette (he really ought to learn darker-brunette's name. He couldn't just call her that. He was evil, not rude). "Consider this your interview. Dispose of that one."

"Defenestrate her?" darker-brunette asked with an appropriately diabolical grin. Lighter-brunette did not seem to understand the word, because she wasn't very alarmed at this, although she did seem slightly worried at the manner in which darker-brunette was cracking her joints.

"Door is fine," Doctor Horrible replied in a calm and collected voice, even as inside he was jubilating.

Darker-brunette nodded resolutely, turned to lighter-brunette and, with an almost audible 'whomp' sound, grabbed lighter-brunette by the hair and started dragging her towards the door, accompanied by shrieks and deftly avoiding lighter-brunette's lacquered nails, which surely could have drawn blood.

Moist watched all this from next to the laboratory door, not sure if he should have been concerned or titillated.

Doctor Horrible finally inspected the card closer and learned that his new henchwoman's name was Mila. Probably like that Jovovich woman. Oh, wait no, it was "Merciless Mila". A little to hokey for a villain name, but adequate enough for a lackey.

Mila returned from the door dusting off her clothes, just in case lighter-brunette had gotten glitter all over her, and looked at Doctor Horrible for approval.

"You're in," he nodded stoically. Mila let out a whoop for joy.

Finally, later, when he brought her the paperwork that needed to be filled before she could officially become his minion, he learned a little more about her.

"I'm from Romania, actually," she explained, gesturing like she meant to convey something, but the meaning being lost at the first cultural barrier along the way. She looked down at the paper and frowned slightly when she noticed the corners were wet.

"Ah, yes, Eastern Europe," Doctor Horrible nodded from across the table. He'd taken his goggles off and was enjoying a nice cup of tea that Mila had made for him. "Some of the most memorable bag guys in bad guy history come from there."

"Eh," Mila shrugged non-comittally. "They came here because this country is easily impressed. The standards for evil back home are quite... con-vul-ted?" she said, testing out the word. She wasn't sure it sounded right.

"Convoluted?" Doctor Horrible raised an eyebrow.

"That word," she nodded. "I mean, it's hard to break away from the every-day badness and become truly extraordinary."

"Really? What's the most evil thing you've done?" Moist asked, sitting at the table between Mila and Doctor Horrible and smiling nervously at the former.

"Kidnapped a lawyer-woman," Mila replied cheerily. "It was a big case, on the TV for a whole year!"

"Really?" Doctor Horrible looked between Moist and Mila, clearly impressed. "Wow, that's... that's really, you know..."

"Evil," Moist nodded, he too clearly impressed.

"Alright, alright, it was on OTV," Mila admitted. The two men looked at her uncomprehendingly, spurring her to explain, "OTV is to television what kids playing doctor is to frontier medicine."

"Oh." Doctor Horrible leaned back, slightly disappointed.

"Well, at least you got on TV," Moist offered optimistically.

"Yes, and at least the Titanic passangers got a nice swim," she snorted. "No, no, I've put that Elodia debacle behind me now. Luckily, it gave me just enough evil hours that I could join the Henchmen's Union, here in America."

"Which reminds me," Doctor Horrible disppeared into the lab and reappeared with a piece of paper. "Your first task as my henchman."

Mila took the piece of paper and looked at it, puzzled.

"This is?..."

"My shopping list," Doctor Horrible nodded smugly. Mila looked about to groan. "Hey, evil is messy and some of that mess comes from doing chores. Because chores are... evil!" He mentally cringed at his lame delivery.

"Alright," she sighed, looking over the list. "Do I hold up the check-out clerk, or..."

"Money's on the fridge," Doctor Horrible said quickly. "In the bag with the dollar sign."

"Well, alright," Mila shrugged and trotted off to do the shopping.

Moist and Doctor Horrible watched her go in silence.

"She's nice," Moist commented at some point.

"Evil, Moist. She's _evil_," Doctor Horrible corrected. In his line of business, being evil was better than being nice. "Now let's get back to designing my evil lair. I'm thinking of calling it... Doctor Horrible's Outpost of Evil!... No? Needs work?"

* * *

Author's note: There are two in-jokes here that anyone Romanian might catch right away: "Merciless Mila" is one, because "Mila" means "mercy". The next is about Elodia, a woman who disappeared over one year ago and still has not been found. The case was followed (is _still_ being followed) in a comically obsessive fashion by OTV, known in many circles as ZeroTV and the question "Where's Elodia?" has turned into a real-life meme. Hey, it's funny from where I'm sitting!


	2. Laundry

Mila shuffled into the kitchen, balancing two bags of groceries in her arms.

"Here, let me help with that," Moist rushed and grabbed one of the bags.

"No, no, I have eggs in--"

Shwoop, smash.

"--that one," Mila sighed, looking at the bag Moist had dropped.

"Sorry," Moist wiped his hands on his shirt, looking guilty.

"It's alright," Mila placed the other bag on the kitchen table. "I'm sure Doctor Horrible will just have toast."

"If he even notices it's morning," Moist muttered.

"Has he been working all night?" Mila asked, peering over at the lab.

"Last touches on the new ray gun," Moist shrugged. "He wants it ready before that new mall opens."

"Ah. Lashing out against the mindless consumerist masses?" Mila nodded knowingly.

"Yep. Hey, this'll be your first big job since you started henching for him. Excited?"

"Eh."

"Not excited?"

Mila had cleaned the remains of the smashed eggs and had started putting away groceries. This being the third time she'd gone shopping for Doctor Horrible, she was starting to learn where everything went.

"I henched as a free-lancer a little while before getting this job, you know, lending an extra hand on heists, opperating heavy machinery when necessary, the kind of things head henchpeople are too important to do. It was okay, I suppose, when heroes were too chivalrous to hit a girl, but you know those full-body suits some minions wear? Well, in one of those, I was usually one of the first to get punched in the face."

"Oh. That won't happen with Billy-- um-- Doctor Horrible," Moist winched at his slip of the tongue. "Hey, what made you wanna work for him, anyway?"

"Are you _kidding?_" Mila snorted. "I have a Eastern European accent and compulsively follow orders. Of course I'd be a mad scientist's evil lab assistant. The only other reason I can't be head hench for anyone else is because I can't properly fill a bustier."

Moist's eyes seemed to glaze over momentarily. "Bustier... right."

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by Doctor Horrible stepping out of his lab with a large metallic container.

"Uh, Mila..." He handed it over to his henchwoman, who nodded once and unscrewed the lid. "Thanks, I would have done it myself, but... you know, these gloves are... slippery." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Anyway, I have one more thing for you to do." He pointed to a canvas bag next to the apartment's door.

"Your laundry? I'm not doing your laundry!" Mila protested.

"Why not?" Doctor Horrible blinked, surprised at her refusal. "Look, I'm not asking you to wash it yourself, you just have to go to the laundromat and--"

Mila raised a finger to stop him from speaking. "Look, I follow any order, but I draw the line at dirty underwear."

Moist had slipped out of the kitchen, the only evidence he'd ever been there a small puddle on the ground.

"It's just laundry!" Doctor Horrible yelled. "It's a stupid, idiotic chore any brain-dead monkey can do!"

"Then why don't you do it?" Mila replied icily.

"Because-- because I--" Doctor Horrible stopped talking and stared at Mila, or rather, past her, with an unreadable expression on his face.

Mila had the feeling she'd just done something terribly wrong, but she wasn't sure what.

"You know what? Fine!" Doctor Horrible sneered and practically ripped a glove off, smacking it on the table. "I'll-- I'll go do it myself!" he growled, scaring Mila like he'd never done before.

"N-no, I think you're right, I'll go and--" she started, but Doctor Horrible turned abruptly, left the kitchen area and threw his lab coat on a chair he happened to pass.

"Uh, Billy..." Moist's hesitant voice called.

"Doctor!" Mila trotted after him, shocked by this sudden change in her employer's demeanour. He was evil, yes, but even when he was in full rant-mode against everything that was wrong with society he wasn't like this. This... was _scary_. "Doctor Horrible, wait!" she shrieked and grabbed his arm just as he reached the door and was about to leave.

"What?" There was so much anger and darkness in that one word as he looked at Mila and so much coldness in his eyes that the woman considered letting go of him and simply inching away, hoping to live to see another sunrise; but she stood fast.

"Do you have any change?" she asked, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. Having an incredibly thick accent helped, somewhat.

"...What?" Doctor Horrible repeated, slightly taken aback. This time he looked at Mila like he was seeing her for the very first time.

"Change," she repeated. "For the laundromat."

He stared at her, uncomprehending, for a few seconds more, then slowly let go of the doorknob and rummaged through his pockets.

"No, I don't... I don't think so," he said finally.

"Okay, then maybe I should go," Mila said carefully, reaching out and grabbing the canvas bag he was holding in his other hand. She tugged and noticed with relief he was letting go. "Good, now go and get some sleep," she patted his arm and opened the door, retreating through it backwards. "You've been working all night."

Doctor Horrible nodded dumbly as the door closed and Mila disappeared to do his laundry. He stumbled past Moist, into the bedroom, where he collapsed onto the bed, uncertain what had just transpired.

_I said I wouldn't feel anything_, he thought. _I can't. I couldn't. I won't. I refuse._

_Penny..._

His dreams that day were unsettling.


	3. Homework

"Here, what do you think?" Doctor Horrible asked as he handed Mila the print-out.

"Your new evil monologue?" Mila raised an eyebrow and scanned the page with mild interest.

"Yeah," Doctor Horrible nodded, nervously raking a hand through his short hair as Mila sat down to read. "Now, I want you to be honest with me. I only have two weeks before I can pull off-- what are you doing?"

Mila had taken out a red pen and was scribbling on the paper, all over his monologue. She looked up at her employer's query, but looked down again and continued what she was doing.

"You misspelled 'proponent'," she said, accentuating the wrong syllable in the very word she'd just corrected.

"'Pro_-po_-nent'," Doctor Horrible corrected in turn. "What do you-- Look, you can't even pronounce the word!"

"But I can _spell_ it," Mila snorted and once again attacked the paper with her red pen.

"What now?" He circled around and looked over Mila's shoulder.

"If you must know, 'irregardless' is not a word," she replied. "Now sit down, I can't work with you breathing down the back of my neck."

"I'm hardly breathing--"

"Did you have ham for dinner?"

Doctor Horrible took the hint and retreated a few paces, covering his mouth while muttering mutinously-- except it couldn't possibly be mutiny, because _she_ was working for _him_, so it was actually Mila who was being mutinous.

"Okay, you know what?" Doctor Horrible snatched the piece of paper from Mila's hands. She yelled in protest, but he'd already taken it out of reach-- holding it up, knowing full well she wasn't tall enough to snag it back. "You can't just-- just walk all over someone's evil monologue like that. It's not cool."

Mila huffed and crossed her arms.

"Well, you're the guy calling himself doctor. I'm sure you're smart enough to edit your own speech," she muttered.

"Except I didn't _ask_ you to edit it! I asked for your opinion!"

"Fine, you still want my opinion?" she growled.

"Yes!" Doctor Horrible yelled, more out of exasperation than anything.

"Then my opinion is that_ your spelling sucks_!" she yelled back, her voice so shrill it was comical.

There were a seconds of silence-- for Mila, at least, because Doctor Horrible's ears still rang from the woman's uncanny shriek-- during which the two awkwardly took stock of the situation and realised they'd both overreacted.

"Your voice is very--"

"Yes," she interrupted testily.

"Does my spelling really suck?"

"...Not really. Sorry. At times, it feels like I understand English better than the so-called native speakers. It's frustrating all around."

"Yeah, I know," Doctor Horrible nodded thoughtfully and refrained from launching into one of his many speeches against the public education system, all stemming from his own unfortunate experiences in what was laughingly called high 'school'.

"But I thought--" Mila cleared her throat nervously and pointed to the paper in Doctor Horrible's hand, "Uh, I thought the part about the media's role in the moral deconstruction of the country was pretty witty."

"Thanks." He knew he was going to blush if he didn't change the subject soon. "By the way, nobody's used the word 'witty' seriously since, like, Victorian England or... something."

Mila snorted in laughter.

"Right..." Doctor Horrible sighed, not sure what to do. "So, I'll just go ask Moist for his input and... yeah..." He left the lab as fast as he could without leaving the impression that he was running.

Mila watched him go, then turned her attention to his computer.

Maybe if she corrected the version on his computer, he wouldn't really notice...


	4. More Homework

"Well?" Dr. Horrible demanded impatiently from his chair.

"Uh... it's coming right up. Okay. Yeah." Moist was sitting at the computer, in a desperate struggle to make the mouse work right. It kept slipping out of his hand, however, and once even slipped so hard, it would have been hurled across the room if not for the chord. "I got it," he sighed relieved as the wanted page showed up on the screen.

"Alright, pick a cool-sounding one," Dr. Horrible grinned and rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Umm... okay, here's a cool word. 'Aerugo'."

"'Aerugo'," the Doctor repeated. "Hmm. Sounds snooty. Try another one."

"Uh... 'patina'?"

"What?... That doesn't sound right," Dr. Horrible frowned. "Are you sure you have the right word?"

"What word?" Mila asked just as she entered the lab.

"Hm? Oh, we still haven't found a name for my new evil base," Dr. Horrible clarified. "'Lair' is way overused, so we're checking the thesaurus for synonyms."

"For what?" Mila asked, approaching the computer and looking over Moist's shoulder at the screen. Moist shifted nervously.

"For 'lair'," Dr. Horrible snorted. "I thought it was obvious."

Mila stared at the screen for a moment, then said very slowly, "Moist, could you spell out 'lair' for me, please?"

"Um... L... A... Y... E..."

Dr. Horrible's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Moist, that's how you spell layer, not lair," Mila said patiently, biting her lip so she wouldn't laugh.

Moist frowned, confused. "...What?"

"They're homophones, Moist," she sighed.

"...They hate gay people?" Moist blinked, his confusion only worsening.

At this point, Dr. Horrible only groaned loudly and smacked his forehead.

"Should I take over?" Mila offered.

"**Please**," Dr. Horrible's voice rang out, even if his face was now buried in his hands.

"What did I do?" Moist asked desperately.

Mila shooed him away and sat on the uncomfortably dank chair. She stared at the keyboard for a moment, then turned it upside-down. Water-- or, rather, sweat-- dripped out of it.

"Uh, Doctor?" she ventured, "How about next time you need someone to look up something, you call me?"

Dr. Horrible could only groan again, while Moist sat in a corner, confused.

"I'm not a homophone," he muttered to himself.


	5. Dressing Up

"I... uh, don't think she'll go for it, Doc," Moist opined.

"Well, I don't know, I'm sure she'll be open to the idea. She might even like it. I think it's very... erm..." Doctor Horrible's eyes stared blankly into the distance as his mind worked on producing an appropriate adjective.

"Skanky?"

"Flattering!-- is what I was going for," the Doctor said quickly, though not quickly enough, because now that Moist said it, he had to admit, the new henchgirl uniform he was holding fit that description neatly.

It was a labcoat, though, so thematically it was fitting, albeit quite tight and very short. Very, very short, indeed.

"Where did you get it from, anyway?" Moist asked, still watching the article of clothing with fascination.

"The Purple Pimp's personal tailor," Doctor Horrible admitted, his ears going slightly red. Now that he thought about it, perhaps asking a man called 'Purple Pimp' for fashion advice was his initial mistake.

Moist was apparently on his way to make a similar comment, but Mila chose that exact moment to enter the room. Moist whipped around guiltily, but Doctor Horrible froze into place with the damnable exploitative labcoat still in hand.

"Oh, is that my new henchgirl costume?" Mila asked, peering at Doctor Horrible expectantly.

"Um... well, it... uh... it's certainly... it certainly looks like it, doesn't it?" the Doctor managed to choke out, appending it with a nervous chuckle.

"Now, see, I can't wear that," Mila huffs without any real outrage.

"Absolutely not!"

"No, no, sure you can't!" Moist and Doctor Horrible exchanged glances as they yelled out these statements at the same time. Because they were evil and they could certainly imagine Mila in the skimpy outfit, but that was a very long way from scrounging up the courage to actually _tell_ her to wear it.

"I mean, I don't even shave my legs that high," she added over her shoulder, as she passed into the next room.

And both Moist and Doctor Horrible knew Mila was evil, because now they could not do even as little as imagine her in it.

Wicked woman.


End file.
